Extended Epilogue
7 years later
Scotland
Eleanor giggled, stumbling slightly as Sebastian’s broad hands covered her eyes, guiding her forward with exaggerated care.
“How much longer?” she asked.
“Patience, my love,” he murmured against her ear, the warmth of his breath sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. “You’ve waited this long, surely a few more steps won’t kill you.” His tone was laced with mirth, and she could hear the quiet laughter of their children beside them—soft, delighted sounds that only made her heart fuller.
“Papa, you’re doing it all wrong,” their eldest, Henry, declared with the self-assurance of a child convinced of his own wisdom. “Mama doesn’t like surprises. She likes to be prepared.”
His little sister, Marianne, giggled beside him, ever the instigator, adding in a conspiratorial whisper, “I like surprises.”
Sebastian scoffed. “Is that so? Well, my dear wife, do you require preparation for a simple surprise?” His hands remained firm over her eyes. Eleanor sighed, long-suffering but smiling all the same.
“You forget, husband,” she said, “that the moment you asked for my hand in my stepmother’s drawing room, my entire life has been one prolonged surprise.”
Sebastian chuckled low in his throat, and just before unveiling her eyes, he pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her neck. “Then this shall be no different, my sweet.”
Eleanor gasped the moment Sebastian lifted his hands away, her eyes widening as she took in the sight before her. Her childhood vacation home stood tall and proud, its once-weathered façade now lovingly restored. The ivy that had once crept unchecked along the stone walls had been trimmed with care, allowing the warm honey-colored brick to shine in the afternoon light. The wooden shutters, freshly painted, stood open as though welcoming her back. A lump formed in her throat as she turned to Sebastian, her hands fluttering uselessly before she pressed them over her mouth.
“How—” she started, her voice breaking. “How did you know? You did this?”
Sebastian’s eyes softened as he reached for her, his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her close. “For you. For us,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I wanted you to have a place that was wholly yours. A place you once cherished, and a place we can spend our summers together, where the children can make memories. Every year after this one, we will come here as a family.” His voice was low and warm, rich with affection, and it sent a fresh wave of emotion through her.
Henry and Marianne, oblivious to the moment their parents shared, squealed in delight as they ran past them toward the house, their laughter echoing through the small garden.
“Slow down!” Eleanor called after them, though her voice was bright with laughter. She turned back to Sebastian, her hands cupping his face as she kissed him, long and lingering.
“I love you,” she whispered against his lips, and she could feel the smile that spread across his face before he kissed her back.
As the pair remained wrapped in their embrace, a distant rumble of wheels on gravel caught their attention. Eleanor turned her head just as a carriage rolled into view, the Greycliff crest gleaming under the afternoon sun. Before the driver could even come to a full stop, the door burst open, and Olivia, radiant as ever, practically tumbled out, her enormous belly leading the way. “Eleanor! Sebastian!” she cried, throwing her arms wide as if she intended to embrace the entire estate. Behind her, Luke stepped out more cautiously, guiding his wife’s movements.
“Olivia!” Eleanor laughed, shaking her head as Olivia waddled toward them. “Should you be moving so quickly in your condition?”
“I hardly think so—“ Luke began.
“Nonsense, I am perfectly capable!” Olivia interrupted, then promptly pressed a dramatic hand to her lower back. “I am merely carrying a small army, that’s all.” She turned to Sebastian with a smirk. “And what of you, Your Grace? Has married life softened you yet?”
Sebastian huffed. “If anything, I’ve been under siege since the moment I wed.” But his voice held no real bite, especially when Eleanor gave him a knowing smile. Luke clapped him on the shoulder. “I’d say you look rather content for a man under siege, old friend.”
As they made their way toward the house, Olivia suddenly clapped her hands together.
“Where are my favorite little mischief-makers? Henry! Marianne! Come out, my dears, I have something for you!” At her call, the children came clamoring to the front, their eager faces lighting up as Olivia produced a small parcel from her reticule. “I brought you the finest chocolates in all of London,” she declared.
“Aunt Olivia! Uncle Greycliff! Thank you,” they said in unison. The children squealed in delight as they took their prizes.
“Uncle Luke—” Luke tried to put in, but alas, it was too late.
Sebastian clapped him on the back. “I am sure they’ll get there someday, old boy,” he chuckled. “For now, perhaps learn to take it as a compliment, until you can invest in satiating their appetite as your wife so wisely does?”
Luke gave a wry smile. “Of course, Ravenscroft.”
As soon as the children darted off, their laughter trailing behind them, the rest of the group made their way inside. The grand foyer of the estate was awash in golden light, the scent of fresh bread and roasted meats drifting from the dining room. The staff, smiling and efficient, greeted them warmly, already preparing for the midday meal. Eleanor slipped her hand into Sebastian’s, sharing a quiet smile with him as they stepped toward the long, inviting table. Brunch was laid out in an elegant yet comfortably informal spread—fluffy scones, thick slices of ham, and an assortment of jams and preserves that Henry and Marianne immediately set upon as they returned, breathless from their running about.
Olivia, ever the center of attention, sighed dramatically as she lowered herself into a chair, patting her rounded belly with exaggerated suffering. “Oh, the trials I endure,” she proclaimed, earning an indulgent chuckle from Luke. “I swear, my dear husband is utterly useless when it comes to managing me. You’d think after years of marriage, he would have learned to anticipate my every need, but alas! He is a slow learner.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and Luke, shaking his head in mock exasperation, leaned forward to pour her a cup of tea.
“I believe I manage just fine, dearest,” he countered smoothly, lifting the cup toward her with a knowing smirk. “Though it does appear that your greatest need at present is simply to be indulged.” Olivia grinned, accepting the tea with an air of regal satisfaction, while Eleanor and Sebastian exchanged amused glances.
After taking a dramatic bite of her scone, she sighed, as if the sheer weight of her burdened existence could only be mitigated by flaky pastry and clotted cream. “Do you know, I’ve decided something very important,” she declared, wiping a crumb delicately from the corner of her mouth.
Eleanor humored her with a raised brow. “Oh? And what great revelation has befallen you this time?”
Olivia set her teacup down with an emphatic clink. “That after this child is born, I am never enduring this again.”
Luke, mid-sip of his own tea, nearly choked. “You told me just last month you wanted at least five children.”
“That was before I became the size of a small carriage!” Olivia said flatly, gesturing toward her belly. “I refuse to do this again unless it is by some divine miracle in which I am unaware I am pregnant until the child simply appears in my arms.”
Sebastian, looking far too entertained, leaned back in his chair. “That seems a rather ambitious condition.”
“Oh, hush, you’re not the one whose ankles have declared war against you,” Olivia shot back, then turned to Eleanor with pleading eyes. “Tell me, dearest, did you suffer like this when you were carrying Henry and Marianne?”
Eleanor smiled, stirring a spoonful of honey into her tea. “Not terribly, though I do recall a certain Duke losing all sense of reason the moment I so much as sighed in discomfort.”
Sebastian scoffed, though the tips of his ears reddened—a sure sign that he had, in fact, been the most fretful of husbands. “You were carrying my child. Forgive me for wanting to ensure you were well.”
“Oh, I assure you, he was insufferable,” Eleanor said with a wink, earning a chorus of laughter around the table. “Though I will admit, I did find it rather sweet. He was so determined to anticipate my every need before I even knew I had them.”
Luke exhaled long-sufferingly. “Sebastian, my friend, you have set an impossible standard.”
Sebastian smirked. “A husband should be attentive, Greycliff.”
Luke arched a brow. “Yes, well, attentiveness does not mean having the nursery redecorated four times because you were suddenly convinced yellow was too stimulating for a newborn.”
Henry, who had been very focused on his pile of jam-slathered scones, perked up. “I like yellow.”
Sebastian pointedly ignored his son’s contribution. “I seem to recall a certain Viscount ordering an entire shipment of French lace because his wife once offhandedly remarked she liked the draperies at a particular inn.”
Luke waved a hand. “That was different.”
“How so?”
“…It was good lace.”
The entire table erupted into laughter, Olivia shaking her head as she rested a hand over her belly. “Honestly, if nothing else, I shall be pleased to give birth simply so I don’t have to listen to any more debates over nursery decor.”
“Speaking of which,” Eleanor interjected, “when is the midwife expecting your little one to make an appearance?”
Olivia huffed. “Any week now, apparently, though I think it is a cruel lie to keep my spirits up. I feel as though I shall be pregnant forever.”
Henry, ever curious, tilted his head. “Can babies stay inside forever?”
Sebastian, recognizing the dangerous territory of the conversation, swiftly stood. “Who would like to go see the stables?”
Henry and Marianne shot up instantly, their interest diverted. “Yes!” Marianne clapped her hands excitedly. “I want to see the new foal!”
Sebastian sent Eleanor a knowing look—crisis averted—before ushering the children outside. Luke followed with a grin, while Olivia groaned and dramatically laid her head against the back of her chair.
“I should have had a nursemaid explain that,” she muttered.
Eleanor laughed, reaching for her friend’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “You are going to be a wonderful mother, Olivia.”
Olivia exhaled, her expression softening. “I certainly hope so.”
Eleanor smiled. “You already are.”
As the afternoon sun bathed the estate in golden light, the group eventually dispersed to their respective rooms, for tomorrow was to be a busy day indeed, leaving Eleanor and Sebastian alone at last.
With a sigh of contentment, Eleanor turned into her husband’s arms by the hearth in their private drawing room, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. “Finally,” she murmured, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “I was beginning to think we’d never have a moment to ourselves.”
Sebastian chuckled, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before capturing her mouth in a lingering kiss, slow and indulgent, as if savoring the taste of her. The warmth of his embrace, the solid strength of him, sent a familiar shiver down her spine—a sensation she would never tire of.
When he pulled away, his lips barely parted from hers, he murmured, “I did warn you from the start, Duchess. Marrying me meant surrendering any expectation of peace.”
Eleanor sighed dramatically, though she made no move to leave his arms. “And here I had foolishly assumed marriage to you would be a sedate affair. Books by the fire, embroidery in the afternoon, a husband who never disturbs my peace.”
Sebastian let out a rich laugh. “As I recall, it was not I who made it my life-long quest to disturb the peace in our house.”
“Only to disturb my peace,” Eleanor chided gently.
“My love, you do not even like embroidery.”
“No, but I like to imagine an alternate version of myself, one who exists in perfect tranquility, unbothered by an overattentive husband who insists on whisking me away to private rooms only to thoroughly ruin me!”
His grin was positively wolfish. “I do take a certain amount of pride in that, yes.”
Eleanor swatted his chest lightly, though she remained smiling. She rested her head against him, her cheek pressed to the soft linen of his shirt, breathing him in. The faint scent of sandalwood and something purely him surrounded her, and she sighed again, though this time, there was no drama in it—only a quiet sort of happiness.
She let her gaze drift toward the large windows, moonlight spilling across the room, bathing the walls in silver. Beyond the glass, her childhood home stretched out before her, the gardens still vibrant even in the dim glow of evening.
“I still don’t know how you knew,” she murmured, trailing a finger idly along the lapel of his waistcoat. “I don’t remember ever speaking of this place to you.”
Sebastian stroked a hand down her back, slow and soothing. “You did not. Not specifically to me at least.”
Eleanor tilted her head up, curiosity dancing in her gaze. “Then how?”
He exhaled softly, his fingers absently playing with the ends of her hair. “I listen, Eleanor. Always have.” His voice was quiet, but there was a weight to it, a reverence that made something in her chest tighten.
She swallowed. “But this house… it was so long ago. A place from before everything changed. Before my father died, before my stepmother’s cruelties. I hardly think of it myself, let alone speak of it.” She let her gaze drift toward the fire, the flames flickering, casting a warm glow over them. “And yet, I do remember being happy here. Running through the gardens with my father, reading on the window seat in my old room, sneaking biscuits from the kitchen when Cook wasn’t looking.” She let out a soft laugh, almost to herself. “It was just a few weeks out of a year when Papa would bring me. I suppose I had forgotten what it felt like. Until now.”
Sebastian tipped her chin back toward him, his gray eyes steady on hers. “I never forget a thing when it comes to you.”
A warmth spread through her, deeper than mere affection, something richer, weightier.
“You speak as though I am terribly interesting.”
Sebastian’s lips curved in a slow, knowing smile. “You are terribly interesting. Particularly when you think no one is paying attention. You have a habit of murmuring in your sleep, you know.”
Eleanor blinked. “I do not!”
“Oh, you do. And one evening, early in our marriage, you spoke of this place. I don’t think you even knew it. Just a whisper of a memory—a name, a feeling. But it was enough.” He brushed his thumb along her jaw. “So I found it. I suppose I could have taken the simpler route and merely asked. But my wife deserved a novel surprise in her long life of surprises. And now it is ours.”
Eleanor felt her throat tighten, emotion rising swift and unexpected. “Sebastian…”
“I want every part of you to be cherished, Ellie,” he murmured, his hands framing her face, his voice softer now. “Even the parts you think you’ve forgotten.”
Her heart was full, too full, and she surged up onto her toes, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was not just grateful but homecoming.
His arms tightened around her, drawing her closer, deepening the kiss with the sort of hunger that spoke not just of desire but of devotion—of years spent together, of a love that had only grown stronger with time.
She melted into him, into the warmth of his body, into the unshakable certainty of him.
But just as their kiss deepened, the sound of hurried footsteps and excited giggles shattered the quiet moment.
Eleanor scarcely had time to pull back before Henry and Marianne barreled into the room, their small hands cupped together in a careful but excited display.
“Mama, Papa, look!” Henry declared, his chest puffed with importance. “We found a mouse in the stables!” Marianne, her curls bouncing wildly, grinned up at them. “Can we keep it? We’ll take very good care of him. We were thinking… we should call him Scrunch Junior!” The children beamed at their parents, utterly oblivious to the bemused expressions exchanged between Eleanor and Sebastian.
For a moment, Eleanor could only blink, torn between laughter and sentiment. Scrunch had been her steadfast companion in the days before her life had changed forever, and hearing the name again after all this time brought a bittersweet warmth to her heart. She glanced at Sebastian, who sighed dramatically.
“Another mouse?” he drawled, tightening his arm around Eleanor’s waist as if bracing himself for the inevitable. “Must we, my love?”
Eleanor, pressing a hand to his chest, laughed softly. “Oh, you know we must.”
With identical squeals of delight, Henry and Marianne spun on their heels and dashed away, eager to share their new pet with Olivia and Luke. As their laughter echoed through the halls, Eleanor leaned her forehead against Sebastian’s, her heart so full it felt near to bursting.
“A new generation of mischief,” she whispered, and Sebastian groaned playfully, pulling her closer.
“Heaven help us,” he murmured, before kissing her once more—this time, undisturbed.
He pulled away for a moment with a smirk. “Two perfect children. A home filled with love. And you—” He tilted her chin up with a gentle touch, brushing his lips lightly over hers. “My greatest fortune.”
Eleanor’s heart swelled at the words, at the way he looked at her as though she was his entire world. “It wasn’t luck,” she whispered, her fingers grazing his jaw. “It was us. We chose this. We fought for it. And we will keep choosing it, every single day.”
Sebastian exhaled, a sound of deep contentment, before pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Then I suppose I must ensure you never regret that choice.” His hands skimmed over her waist, his voice turning husky. “Beginning now.”
“Only now?” Eleanor laughed softly, threading her fingers through his dark hair as she leaned up to kiss him once more, lingering and sweet. Outside their room, the sounds of children’s laughter and Olivia’s exasperated—but equally amused—voice drifted back toward them. Life was never quiet, never dull. But it was theirs.
And in this moment, wrapped in the arms of the man she loved, Eleanor knew with certainty—there was no greater happiness than this.